Cross of Bones
by 8belles
Summary: Rewrite. Prequel to Captain America- Civil War. D23 got me salivating along with hints/allegations from S. Stan… I'm mashing Agents of SHIELD with comics with what little we know from D23. Warning- there are either rumors or spoilers here depending on your POV. Read with Caution. (mild language). (Grant Ward, Cap, Bucky, Falcon, Black Widow, Vision, Tony Stark)


Cross of Bones

 **A/N D23 got me salivating… the trailer… all the Things (which a few other writers have covered very satisfyingly)! So, I'm mashing Agents of SHIELD with comics with what little we know from D23. Warning- there are either rumors or spoilers here depending on your POV. Read with Caution.**

 **Two weeks ago….**

 _The Accords came after the_ incident.

" _I told you that we should have been keeping a better eye on things!" Steve fumed in the common room for the Avengers HQ in upstate New York watching the news, arms angrily crossed over his broad chest. Computer monitors kept scrolling the disaster footage that had occurred; people running for their lives, dust caked faces and crumbled buildings. Angry mobs protesting 'super powered' people, calling for their imprisonment or at worst- death._

" _I didn't think those fools would do something so stupid." Stark retorted, eyes flashing as he turned towards Steve. He jammed his hands guiltily into his pants pockets making him look like an overindulged teen._

" _For once in your life, you miscalculated something? Oh wait, that wasn't the first time, was it?" Rogers spat, muscles in his jaw clenching leveling a stare at Stark. The room was silent as Hawkeye, Widow, War Machine, Wanda and Vision looked on. Even Vision's cape was still._

 _Tony's mouth opened and an accusatory finger raised to point at Steve but Sam intervened palms up in a 'lets get a beer and talk this over' look, "Tony. Steve. This will get us nowhere. Stop."_

 _Both men ignored Falcon and continued their verbal tirade coming closer to each other almost bumping noses, "You know what? I'm going to be the bigger man here and take responsibility for what happened. I'm going to_ _ **fix**_ _this." Stark hissed into Cap's face. Steve's expression was like stone, blue eyes flinty._

" _Well its about time you took responsibility for something." Rogers replied, deadly calm, "You can't fix this. Not this time."_

" _Just watch me. Now, get out." Tony growled, the pointing finger now towards the door._

" _Why would I want to stay? You never listen. Never have. Just like your father." Steve replied darkly and began to walk away before he punched Tony in the face._

" _Leave my father out of this, Rogers!" Tony snarled then followed with, "I make all your cool shit." Getting in the last petulant word, he put his hands on his hips. Sam knew neither of them had won anything. It was a stalemate, at best, and a huge loss for the team._

" _And without it, you are worth nothing." Cap concluded crisply over his shoulder as the sliding door opened for him and he exited._

 _Stark stood there fuming like Emperor Nero watching Rome burn but unable to see the destruction before him._

 _Without a word or cue, the rest of the Avengers, except Vision and Rhody, got up and moved to the door._

" _Where are you going?" he asked, slightly startled._

" _With our Captain." Natasha stated plainly, her green eyes full of disdain and headed out with the rest of her friends. She cast a disparaging look at Vision, who was poker-faced, and Rhody who rocked side to side, clearly conflicted. Stark's expression began to fall as he realized they were abandoning him for Steve._

 _The war had begun._

 **Ten days Ago…**

The homeless shelter was full for the night, turning Bucky away. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Pulling his collar up on his jacket and tightening down his ball cap to hide his face, he nodded and moved on to plan B, under the bridge by the former Triskelion building, not far from the National Mall.

Why did he return to his little hole under the bridge linking Virginia with the DC area, he never really knew, except that he had dragged Steve out of the river there and that was his last good memory? After reading his life on glass at the Smithsonian, he knew Steve would be looking for him, right? He'd be looking right here where they last parted. The delusion sounded so good in the vacuum of a mission or guidance that he clung stubbornly to it as the only rock he had to ground himself.

Steve had called him one of the 'stubbornest jackasses' he ever knew. Barnes told him to look in the mirror and corrected his grammar _"It's most stubborn, you knucklehead. You should have paid more attention in school."_

" _What ever, Barnes. How could I pay attention when I was getting my head smashed in every day?" Steve retorted, his skinny cheeks reddened._

" _Well that certainly explains things." James replied over his shoulder while folding laundry._

 _Rogers weakly hurled a shoe at James's head, "Son of a bitch."_

 _Bucky ducked it easily with a grin, "Language!"._

It was those wisps of memory that were floating back to him like dandelion fluff on summer air that kept him here, always within about five square miles of the place they last parted. His mind kept meandering with new found memories as he took the long way back to his hideout on the pleasant evening.

At first, he spent months of wandering like a ghost through Washington D.C., always looking over his shoulder for Pierce. When he found out Peirce was dead, his nightmares had Brock Rumlow in them. He never came. In fact, no one came to find him, not even Steve.

But there was that other guy. The bird man. They had met on the helicarrier when Steve was his mission. Did this man want revenge? Never certain, Bucky stayed low and out of sight, passing days in the public libraries and catching up on history.

He read about various political assassinations over time and Alexander's voice slithered into his brain, "Your work has been a gift to mankind! You have helped shaped a century. And I need you to do it one… more… time." Bucky's heart was always heavy like a lump of lead in his chest after he read them. Was it him? He couldn't remember.

Surfing through the Internet one random afternoon, he stopped dead in his clicking: _Howard and Maria Stark Dead_. It was the headline on of the _The New York Times_ in huge black font, a grainy picture of the couple at some swanky fundraiser.

Bucky's mouth moved soundlessly, eyes wide at the screen. He _remembered_ Howard, from his army days. There was a picture of a despondent teenaged Tony on the archived page. Barnes felt suddenly ill.

He read the details like an accident you're helpless to avoid but watch anyway, unable to avert your eyes. The brakes of a car were tampered with and they had crashed. Was that him? Did he remember? Fuzzy images of orders from Zola and a garage came to him in tiny pieces like a giant puzzle. Barnes got up shakily from the monitor and rushed for the door to the library as if demons were chasing him.

They were. All of his past was chasing him.

Approaching his hideout, he snapped out of his reverie and realized he had not walked the typical double back way to keep anyone who might be interested in him from following. Instead he had walked straight to his bed. _How foolish,_ he scolded himself, as he looked cautiously around the wooded area before hopping off the sidewalk to creep under the bridge.

Before he made his move, a voice came out, "Hey. A little help?"

Bucky froze. No one ever talked to him much and if they did, it was in questions answered by a yes, no or a fist to the face.

Barnes pretended not to hear, but he saw who was speaking; a hunched over old man by a trashcan.

"Please?" the voice came again, small and frail.

Bucky actually looked at the man, feeling the plates on his left arm ripple in discomfort under his hoodie. He looked to tiny and fragile. What harm could he pose? And memory of being raised as a child to help elderly people began to surface.

"What old man?" James was brusque.

"I'm stuck. Can you lift this up for me?" the man replied plaintively nodding toward the trashcan where it appeared his coat was snagged in a strange way. With a grumble, Barnes decided he could do this tiny bit of kindness if it would help his guilt. The old man watch Bucky with bright eyes, "Thank you mister."

Just as Bucky looked at the man, he saw the cattle prod out of the corner of his eye. But it was too late and he was out of practice. Blue lightening arced out to engulf him in blinding light and pain.

Tony Stark stood over the twitching Winter Solder on the ground. The robot that tazed James stood ready for another strike. Stark interjected, "FRIDAY, stand down. Uncloak." The robot relaxed and a shimmer appeared over its surface to reveal one of Stark's Iron Shield robots in blue and silver. Tony smiled derisively, the liquor on his breath. "This was almost too easy." he commented with a hint of disappointment, "They all left me for Rogers. But now I have what I need. Steve will have to agree with me now. They all will." Suiting up into his own Mark armor, he hoisted the unconscious Bucky over his shoulder and fired up his thrusters. The Iron Shield robot followed dutifully.

 **Five Days ago:**

The road was long and difficult, but he knew in the end, the reward was going to be worth every ounce of pain, blood and sweat he endured. Hydra was his home and they didn't leave a good man behind, Alexander Pierce promised him.

The barbell ascended slowly from his bench press, muscles trembling, above his head where he focused his hate for Steve Rogers on the space between his hands, imagining choking the super soldier to death slowly, excruciatingly. His burn scars pulled painfully where he had failed to wear the waffle pattern compression bandages. The specialists had told him to use them to prevent disfiguring scarring that were beyond plastic surgery. Rumlow lied that he would bear those scars as a remembrance of those who never made it out from under the hand of the traitorous Hydra agents. Truth was, he wanted to be as horrifying as possible for Captain America when they next met. Hard lines of mutilated tissue stretched agonizingly over bulging sinews under his skin. The fire had seared him both inside and out.

Luckily for him, everyone who knew he was Hydra was either dead or so far underground in the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. the hospital thought he was a special ops soldier caught in the collapse of the Triskellion. For weeks he spent in intensive care as John Doe, while the doctors monitored, treated and saved his life. He was the cuckoo bird stealing sustenance from the nest of the host like the parasite he was. _Lucky for me_ , Brock mused on the next lifting rep as the physical therapist watched carefully, that now he'd pay back the man who brought this upon him and how he knew exactly how to do it.

"I've come to discharge John Doe." The neatly dressed woman said calmly in her black pencil skirted suit, hair in a severe black bob and dark frames on her face.

The discharge nurse behind the chaotic desk covered in case load papers from the flood of Triskellion casualties looked her over tiredly, "And you are?"

"Terri Bradshaw, CIA." She held out a credential for the nurse to examine.

"Relation?" the nurse looked at the document and returned it, his tone dubious. Every one was on edge since the fallout at S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Pentagon. These days you couldn't trust your own shadow.

"I have special clearance to bring John Doe to the CIA." Bradshaw said firmly, "As a matter of national security."

The nurse asked with a frustrated tone, a frown furrowing his brow, "Where _were_ you guys for the last several months when he was critical and in rehab?"

Terri looked down her nose at the nurse and then gave a friendly, just-between-friends smile, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye, "Let's be honest. You provide better medical care here than the VA. He was in great hands and we knew he was safe. It was win-win situation. Thank you. John Doe is _very_ important to us."

After his twelve-hour shift, the nurse heard the compliment and smiled as someone finally seemed to recognize how much hard work they, and he, had put into saving the injured from the Triskellion fallout. His attitude softened, "Well, then let me get you the paperwork. Do you have some clothes for… John Doe?"

"Yes, right here." She handed over a black duffle bag to the nurse.

"I'll get right on this." He replied standing from the desk, a small smile of gratitude on his lips, "Just a moment."

Folding her hands neatly before her, Bradshaw smiled. Everything was falling into place. Time to recovered the Asset.

Brock showered from his last physical therapy session and tried to slip into the black tactical pants Terri had brought him. They rasped against his burn scars like sandpaper but he refused to acknowledge the pain. Keeping it inside stoked the fires of hate he had for Steve Rogers. The matching Under Armor shirt slipped more smoothly over his heavily muscled and scarred torso. Tightening his belt and pulling on socks and tactical boots, he stood tall from his bedside in the small room that had been his 'home' since the spring. Looking around he saw nothing he needed to take with him except memories. Brock's heart was still smoldering from the wreckage and with a cruel smile he thought, "Let's go get him."

Bradshaw was signing papers as Brock was wheeled in a chair to the desk. "I am fully _capable_ of walking." Brock said gruffly, his voice lower and rougher than Terri remembered. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise when she saw his mutilated face.

"Sorry. Hospital policy, sir." The orderly replied neutrally.

Rumlow's eyes flashed dangerously and Terri reached out a hand to touch his, a subtle warning in her voice. "Soldier, you've been through a lot. Let's get you settled somewhere more comfortable."

Crossbones relaxed slightly shooting a glance at Terri and allowed himself to be propelled down the hall by the orderly.

Once outside Brock didn't wait for the chair brakes to be set before he leapt from the chair. Bradshaw thanked the orderly as she didn't want any suspicions to be aroused and then gently pushed Brock towards a black SUV. The driver opened the door for both of them and then took the wheel. As the SUV merged into traffic, Brock let out a sigh of contentment running his damaged hands through the hair that wasn't totally singed off his head, "Took you long enough."

Terri peeled off the black wig to let her blonde tresses spill over her shoulders, "You're welcome?" she began sharply but then changed her tone. Fighting would get them nowhere, "You were difficult to find. I believe everyone thought you were dead. I was the only one who had hope."

"I'm glad you did. I have score to settle with someone." Rumlow commented dryly, ignoring the beauty of the Hydra agent next to him and her curt but polite attitude.

"I am aware of that, but firstly we need the Asset back before you can fulfill your… whims." Terri produced a dossier and an IPad from her large purse.

He took it eagerly from her hands and began to flip through the collection of images and specs of Stark Tower. Narrowing his eyes, calculations began to form in his mind for firepower, tactical personnel and a plan. Suddenly, Rumlow stopped swiping and held his breath. There he was; the Asset, in a large Hulk-buster style glass box, looking tired and haggard. The glass bore scratches from the inside as if Barnes was an insect trying to break through an impenetrable chrysalis. Crossbones flipped to the next image of the Winter Soldier, the pictures a bit grainy from the tiny spy camera they had been taken with.

A buried memory surfaced.

 _Dubiously, Rumlow watched the chilled sarcophagus be up-righted and the seal cracked with a deep serpentine hiss as the remaining cooling fluid condensed water vapor in mystical clouds at their feet. The half naked Winter Soldier stood, unmoving, eyes open, face expressionless, pale skin slightly damp from his thawing out. Beads of moisture clung to the metal of his left arm gleaming like deadly diamonds. Two white coated technicians helped guide the deadly assassin from his chilly coffin to the programming chair in the basement of the Federal Reserve bank. The Asset's movements were stiff and uncoordinated. Rumlow snorted derisively that this…_ thing _… was Hydra's secret weapon, shaping the century with monumental tales spun around him of mysterious killings that could never be solved? Who was this creature? This was Hydra's 'ghost'? The tiny seed of jealousy began to grow like a noxious weed in Brock's mind, that Pierce preferred the Asset's skills over his own._

 _They wiped him down with towels and his skin began to pink up with the buffing like a newborn baby. His face was still blank behind strings of wet, brown hair. With something close to tenderness for a beloved machine, a tech pushed the long strands back from the Asset's eyes. Brock saw there was no man there; no soul. He was a blank slate._

 _Alexander handed the chief programming engineer in a neat bow tie a file. With his implacable voice, Pierce commanded, "Prep him."_

 _Brock didn't feel sorry for the guy as he and Alexander left the bank vault. The Asset's fate was worse than death._

Blinking to clear his head to the present, Crossbones redoubled his study of the electronic files, pushing away the picture of the Winter Soldier in Tony Stark's glass box and the feelings it inspired. Every corner of the tower was outlined clearly for him in the schematics. Terri was exceptionally talented sneaking that double agent into Stark's employment rolls, which wasn't easy. Tony was amazing at machines but he was not so good at making algorithms to judge people. Once Bradshaw had the 'right' answers, it was just a matter of coaching.

"Zola taught you well how to read people to get this intel." Brock commented, glancing up briefly at her.

A flash of sadness swept her face recalling the A.I. Zola in Camp Lehigh, "Yes, he did. It was deep sacrifice he made. I still had much to learn from him."

"Who is left in the team?" Rumlow asked, looking back to the IPad as he continued to analyze the blueprint of the building.

"Not as many as you'd prefer, I'm sure. I'm calling in a rogue agent from Hydra. He has just completed a rather harrowing mission that didn't go well for him. I think this project will be perfect for him to get his mind off things, like how he _thinks_ he's the new leader." she replied as the SUV moved from the greater DC area to the suburbs. Office and government buildings were replaced with houses and trees whizzing by from the freeway.

"Hmmm, I think a smaller group would be best for this operation." Brock rubbed the stubble on his chin with a scarred hand, "What do you know about Tony's house robot?"

"J.A.R.V.I.S. has been temporarily replaced." Terri began to Brock's surprised look. "Long story there but Tony has been running a new program called FRIDAY and she's a bit of a beta. I think I can out maneuver her. The trick is his new A.I. lapdog Vision. He's an android. Very powerful. That may be more the issue. It is unclear if he is with Stark right now."

"An android. I thought those were only phones." Brock tried to joke. Terri kept her face neutral. "Guess I have some news to catch up on."

"It's been an exciting time. You haven't even heard the half of it since you've been awake and in rehab." Bradshaw reached into the cooler inside the tricked out SUV and pulled out a bottle of water. She offered it to Rumlow, who took it. She retrieved another for herself, "Seems the world is getting tired of our super friends floating cities in the air and blowing the world to hell. They want superhero registrations and restrictions on all the freaks."

"And how does that affect _my_ mission?" Rumlow asked not caring if every superhero was lined up execution style and he got to fire every shot into their brains. He only cared about one.

Terri's eyebrows knitted together carefully over her blue eyes to emphasize her words, "Stark and Rogers are no longer _friend_ s."

"Interesting." he mused to himself and kept looking at the picture of Stark Tower.

 _Very interesting_.

* * *

Grant Ward stood to one side of the doorway, casually examining his palm, barely listening to the flow of conversation around him. Terri had called him a few weeks ago stating that his unique services were needed for a small mission. At first, Ward balked because he was _heir apparent_ to Hydra and he worked for no one. It was the allure of being able to partner with Brock Rumlow that was irresistible. How did that man survive the fall of the Triskelion, he had no idea. Crossbones's fame was known far and wide through the organization and Grant thought it would be good to get to know him so that when he was in charge, Rumlow would be an ally.

The sharp business dressed woman appeared from behind the adjoining corner of the hotel lobby. Her large briefcase hung at her side, neat black hair bobbing as she walked with confidence. Ward could tell it was Bradshaw and that she was probably armed to the teeth even if she wasn't a field agent. Conflict was not their purpose today and as she passed, he fell into step with her silently as they moved to a private meeting room that was vacant away from the atrium.

Once she closed the door behind her, he turned to look at her directly, "Is he ok?"

"Who? Brock?" She asked calmly as she pulled out another file and iPad, setting it on the table, "He's just fine. Said the hospital food was terrible, of course."

Ward smiled and relaxed, choosing his casual façade for this encounter. Terri didn't know him well, in fact they'd never met. He had all his acting tools at his disposal. "So, what great task is so important that you took the time to look me up?"

Terri smiled a neutral smile, face unreadable. Being higher up in the echelons of Hydra had its advantages and she knew more about Ward than he probably suspected, "A theft, actually."

Grant looked at her with a frown over his deep brown eyes, "I'm no thief. There are plenty of mercenaries for hire to do that work."

"Exactly. But I need _you._ " Bradshaw replied taking a seat at the table and pushing the file and iPad towards Ward.

He kept his eyes on her as he sat then accepted the dossier. His frown deepened only slightly as he looked over the mission. She was impressed with his ability to keep his composure for what she was asking him to do. Finally, he looked up at her, "I'll do it."

"Excellent." Terri smiled a genuine smile, reserving that expression for when she really meant it, "Brock and I will meet you at this location in Manhattan in two days." She handed him a card as he accepted it, tucking it away in his sport coat pocket. Standing, she offered her hand for a shake and he took it firmly, "Sorry for your loss of Agent 33."

Grant's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly but Terri saw it, keeping her blue gaze steady. This was her first test of the unpredictable agent, but he held firm, "Thank you. Her name was Kara."

Releasing her hand, he turned and saw himself out as if nothing unpleasant had just occurred. Terri folded her arms and raised a hand to tap her chin thoughtfully. He was infinitely useful, but would have to be watched, carefully.

 **Three Days ago….**

Ward sat at the park bench across the street from the Avengers Tower in his good dark grey suit, aviator sunglasses shading his eyes, pretending to read the _New York Times_. A story of a black clad baton-wielding vigilante in Hell's Kitchen caught his attention for a moment then he turned the page. Discord leapt from the pages about petty crimes, politics and the growing public concern over the 'powered' people, namely the Avengers. Grant smirked inwardly at that last bit. He'd seen enough enhanced humans to last him a lifetime and it seemed no one knew who they were really dealing with.

Terri appeared, walking neatly through a throng of New York city pigeons in her heels, and sat near him, a cup of coffee in her hand. Turning casually to him, she smiled her socially appropriate smile, "How was your trip from D.C.?"

Grant folded the paper closed and remarked, "Not bad. Amtrak is a great way to travel."

"Indeed." She reached into her purse and pulled out a file that might look like any an executive in Manhattan would have. Cameras were always every where in the city. "Thought you'd like to take a look at this."

"Thanks. It's just what I needed." Ward played along, accepting the file.

"I'll see you for lunch?" Terri stood, her black wig framing her face exotically as she cast a shadow across Ward. She could see herself in his blackout lenses.

"Absolutely." Grant smiled his socially acceptable smile back at her. Bradshaw turned on her heel and departed with a smart, business-like walk back through the crowd of ever-present pigeons.

She left her coffee.

Grant waited for her to be out of sight before he picked up the coffee and stood as if to throw the cup away. Tucking the file under his arm, he turned away from the street corner locating a trash can. Popping the lid off I saw a small collection of items: a USB drive, an I.D, pass-code card, a mesh-mask for concealing his identity and a vial of purplish liquid with a self injecting needle. Pouring those items out, he deftly stored them inside his suit coat pocket. To anyone else it looked as if he was a tidy citizen cleaning up the city.

Straightening his suit, Ward inhaled a confident breath feeling good to be on a mission again.

"Mr. Bunsen. You are here to see Mr. Stark?" the secretary looked at him questioningly, eyeing the I.D. card Terri had given him.

"Yep. Ten a.m. sharp!" Ward put on his Midwestern accent and 'boy next door' charm.

"Hmm. I see." She handed the card back to Ward with a visitor badge and pointed toward the bank of elevators past the metal detectors and ominous looking guards, "Please proceed to the sixty fourth floor."

"Thank you, ma'am." Ward smiled broadly and proceeded through the metal detectors without a hitch. The Hydra cloaking in his sport coat worked like a charm concealing all of his equipment.

Pushing the call button, he waited patiently practicing his speech for Tony in his head.

The elevator glided quickly and smoothly up to the designated floor making Grant's ears pop. With a soft ping, the doors slid open to expose a lab filled with every gizmo and gadget possible. Grant noticed the shield of Captain America on the wall, perhaps a prototype from Howard's day and a sad looking one armed robot with a paper cone hat perched awkwardly upon its "head".

But it was the imposing purple and gold android standing not far from the elevator that caught his attention the most. This must be Vision, the offspring of Ultron and J.A.R.V.I.S. _Impressive_ , Ward thought as he gave the android an appraising look.

Ward stepped into the lab and a woman's voice with a Scottish accent filled the room, "Welcome Mr. Bunsen. Mr. Stark will be here shortly."

Ward looked to the air in front of him and replied with a fraction of uncertainty, "Thank you."

"That is FRIDAY, the house AI. I am Vision. Pleased to meet you." Vision stepped forward, his face a blank slate. He didn't offer his hand. The golden cape behind him rippled softly as if it had a life of its own.

"Amazing, all this tech!" Ward laid on his 'slight fan boy" act, "Paul Bunsen. Pleased to meet an Avenger!"

The attempt at a smile pulled at the android's lips as if he was trying to affect a human expression, "I am not sure that is an accurate statement at this time."

"Oh? Is something wrong? I didn't see anything in the paper or news." Ward feigned concern, knowing his ear bud was picking up this conversation for Hydra.

Vision's eyes were stony, but Grant wasn't sure if it was because he was half machine or if he really felt the magnitude of discord that had fractured the Avengers. Finally, before it became awkward, he replied, "No. There is nothing out of the ordinary here."

Ward threw his arms wide, face incredulous diverting, "Nothing out of the ordinary! Look at this place! It's filled with wondrous things!"

"Finally! Someone who appreciates my genius!" the voice of Tony Stark filled the room. Vision and Grant turned to see the billionaire philanthropist approach in his trademark AC/DC t-shirt and classically ripped jeans, a bourbon in his hand.

Ward smiled his best acolyte smile, extending his hand,"Paul. Paul Bunsen. The honor is _mine_ Mr. Stark."

"Tony. Please." Stark took Grant's hand and shook it firmly. "Vision! You haven't offered my new friend a beverage?"

"It's ok. Thanks." Grant downplayed as he saw a small frown appear between Vision's eyes.

"At least FRIDAY could have done something. It's hard to program good help these days." Tony commented like a tired father complaining about children, clapping Ward on the shoulder amicably and steering him towards a work table and computer bank. Vision followed a discrete distance behind them. Grant felt that the android didn't trust him. Now he needed ever trick in his playbook to pull this off. Vision creeped him out.

Ward chuckled good naturedly at the joke, glad that it appeared Tony was already on his way to inebriation even if it was only past ten am, "Not a problem, sir." He felt the USB drive in his pocket. Terri asked him to deploy it into the nearest port he could find so she could get to work on disabling FRIDAY and Vision, if possible.

"What brings you here today, son?" Tony asked suddenly serious like his android, stopping abruptly at a console where a 3D image of his Iron Shield 2.0 was displayed. Ward spied an unoccupied USB port.

 _Here comes the speech_ , Grant thought, steadying himself mentally for the spiel that Terri had given him to enthrall and distract the inventor extraordinaire.

Vision impassively watched the exchange between the two men, Paul Bunsen chatting up the older inventor who had gone back to his drinking ways after the team had broken up. His mind began reminisce away from the conversation before him.

Even with the knowledge of the world in his mind, he was just beginning to figure out how to utilize it to understand people. Tony had been greatly upset when everyone but he and War Machine left. The lab was in pieces as if Banner himself had personally cleared out the room. Vision was instructed to confront Tony before he tore the facility apart in his Mark armor. With an expertly placed Taser and brute force, Vision immobilized Tony so he could be sedated. After that, Rhody got him some help; very expensive and private help.

Tony and Pepper had never left the Tower completely, but up until the fight, had spent less time there. After Steve and Tony had exchanged words, Vision watched Stark pack up the majority of his things and move back to the city. Only a skeleton crew remained to keep the rural HQ functioning.

Then came the drinking again.

Most days were good days where Tony would wake in the morning, have breakfast, work out and then tinker in the lab for hours until supper. Occasionally he'd be sober for dinner. More often than not, he'd be tipsy. Potts argued with him, sometimes to the point where she'd leave for a few days until her worry for him overcame her displeasure.

Vision's mind winged to a particularly bad relapse. Tony decided to consider base jumping his own skyscraper without a parachute.

"Tony…. Please! Come back inside." The desperation was clear as a bell in her voice.

Stark spun slowly on one foot like a rusty ballerina at the edge of the building where the quinjets landed with a casual laugh that cut like glass, "C'mon Pepper. You don't need me. I'm a failure." He stopped rotating suddenly and looked at her, his eyes dark in pain, "The world is out of control and all I want to do is help it. Help it step back from the chaos and destruction. All I want is peace, Pepper, and what have I made? Nothing."

"You know that's not right." Pepper yelled at him, her temper building with her fear.

"Show me different!" He bit back, "Where are the Avengers? Scattered! I did it. I pushed them away and now I have nothing."

"You have me." Potts pleaded reaching out to him.

"And you deserve _so much_ better." Tony concluded and stepped off the roof.

Vision was a purple and gold streak as he rocketed past the screaming Potts. He caught up with Stark about half way down, catching him gently. Tony was crying deep heartrending sobs.

"It's ok Tony." Vision tried to sound soothing to the distraught inventor as they flew back upward.

"Vision, I got to do something. Something to get Steve back on my side." Stark wept.

"Perhaps an honest conversation?" Vision suggested as they reached the top of the building.

As Pepper ran to them and embraced Tony, Vision saw a strange light in Tony's tear filled eyes. He knew that look; Stark had hatched a plan.

Suddenly, Vision's attention was drawn back to the present as Tony slumped to the floor at Ward's feet, apparently unconscious. FRIDAY's voice was a smear of sound indicating she was shutting down for some strange reason. Lights, computer systems and everything in the Tower began to quit.

Grant whirled to face Vision who was on full attack mode, which was terrifying. Ward dodged a few well aimed energy blasts from Vision's forehead stone and ducked under tables, crawling from console to console to avoid being fried. "Brock?! Now would be nice!" Grant yelled into his comm.

"Hang tight." Rumlow's gravelly voice responded.

Abruptly, a black tactical helicopter appeared outside the windows of the lab like a giant dragonfly. "Stay down." Brock commanded and machine gun fire erupted from the chopper. Glass flew in every direction like deadly diamonds. Bullets ricocheted off Vision's chest like angry bees. Vision turned his attention to the gun fire instead of Ward. "Hey big guy, like a treat?" Brock smiled from behind the side mounted gun and tossed in an EMP grenade.

Grant heard the canister hit the floor and a tiny noise followed by a massive flash of light that burned behind his eyelids. The next sound he heard was a body hitting the floor heavily.

Vision was temporarily stunned by the blast, resorting to a deep reboot of his computer components. Brock swung from a rope into the gaping shattered window he created with the machine gun easily stepping over the incapacitated Vision, "We don't have all day. Let's get the Asset." His henchmen followed suit as the helicopter then flew up to the roof.

"Around this corner." Grant guided as he recalled the schematics of the building. "How come the chopper didn't get fried by the EMP?" Ward had to wonder out loud.

Brock smiled and tapped his head, a crafty smile on his scarred face, "Because it's all mechanical, not electrical. Wasn't born yesterday like Mr. Baymax back there."

Ward smiled easily at the wily agent as they rounded the corner to the darker, more secret areas of the lab. Once locked doors were easily pushed open. Both men stopped dead in their tracks: the Winter Soldier sat slumped in his glass cage dressed only in gym shorts, a sad testament to his former glory.

"This is him?" Grant said out loud, raising his arms incredulously. "You have got to be kidding."

Rumlow approached the glass box where Buck Barnes appeared to be sleeping, "He's more dangerous than he looks."

"Right." Ward commented just as Bucky stood up and launched himself at the glass. Brock stumbled back several steps in surprise. An inhuman howl came from inside the Winter Soldier. "Ok. I take that back." Grant finished, eyes wide.

The assembled team began to strap cargo webbing to the box. Bucky continued his rage against his prison with loud clangs, metal scraping on glass and guttural growls. "Can someone shut him up?" Ward complained.

Rumlow gave Ward a distasteful look as if he was disrespecting the former assassin, "Gas him."

One of the team was lifted up and a gas canister released into the ventilation of the box. A mist filled the space and the Winter Soldier collapsed in a heap at the bottom.

"Let's get this Asset moving." Rumlow commanded, "I have just the place for him."

Grant looked sideways at Rumlow, "But our instructions were to-"

Rumlow suddenly threw Grant up to the closest wall, a knife in a sinewy hand, burn scars stretching grotesquely across his face, "I know exactly what she told you and me. But I have some very important business with someone else and the Asset is going to help me. She'll get him after I'm done with him, got me?"

Ward whispered back, lest his throat be slit by the blade nicking his larynx, "Yes."

"Good. Now get out of here before Captain Purple pants wakes up." Crossbones snarled, turning away and pulling his helmet own over his disfigured face.

Ward never thought he'd run from a fight ever, but sometimes you had to cut your losses. This was one of those times. What hurt his pride the most was hearing Rumlow's mocking laugh all the way down the staircase. When Hydra was up and running under him, things would be different. Very different.

 **24 Hours ago….**

Sam felt these days more like a crappy CSI investigator than Avenger. Every lead was a dead end. When Steve asked him for any updates, Wilson always had to give him an apologetic look, barely able to look Rogers in the eye when he said, "No. Sorry."

"It's ok, Sam. Keep trying." Steve would always say, a melancholy shadow over his expression, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. It was that note of longing and optimism that killed Falcon every time and it kept him looking harder.

As the denial piled up between them, Steve stopped asking about Bucky daily. The queries became weekly, then longer between the searching, hopeful looks and awkward silences. Ultron took Steve away for a few weeks while Falcon continued his hunt.

A hunter. Exactly what Sam could describe his job right now. Hunt the elusive Bucky Barnes: The Ghost. In the back of his mind, Wilson wondered if it was Cap who was haunted by a phantom of friendship that no longer existed. Sam knew Bucky pulled Steve from the river after the helicarrier blew up, but that could have been some behavior caused by a vacuum of orders? Was it that impossibly tiny sliver of redemption that kept Rogers' confidence alive to recover his friend? Would he do it for Riley if he had the same chance? Sam mockingly smirked to himself wrapping his fingers around a fork, pushing his half eaten apple pie around on his plate. Of course he would. What kind of stupid question was that? That chance he never got was one of the reasons why he was doing this for Cap.

Falcon's thoughts wandered to his Avengers training where it seemed everything on the surface was _alright_ between Steve and Tony, post-Ultron. But Sam's therapist eyes could see the fine hairline cracks in the foundation of Stark and Rogers friendship. Those cracks Wilson knew could, or _would,_ become grand canyons of discord if something didn't happen soon to correct them. The seeds were sewn.

They went their separate ways. Sam didn't discuss the rumors about registration act that were floating about from the others on the team with Steve, or even these new guys that were appearing, like Ant Man (Wilson never stopped thinking that was the funniest name). He kept his nose to the ground like a bloodhound for Barnes. Falcon had a hunch that besides finding Bucky, that James was going to become another point of contention between Steve and Tony.

Either way, he had a job. Sitting in the diner booth, the cup of black coffee growing cold and gazing out the window at the busy traffic, he was at another dead end.

Suddenly, he saw something. Rather someone. They stood on the opposite side of the street, a flickering image as busses and cars whizzed by. They looked neither male or female but were staring at him pointedly, arms crossed over chest, black hoodie pulled up so Sam couldn't see a face clearly.

Once it was clear that the person knew Sam was looking at them, they moved as a large truck drove by. When it passed, they were gone. Sam had a feeling they wanted him to follow. Throwing a ten down on the counter, he slid out rapidly from the booth and bolted for the door.

Looking wildly about on the street, he caught sight of the person about a block up from him. Diving into the avenue, honks and squeals punctuating his movement against the flow of traffic, he found the opposite sidewalk without being flattened.

Pelting up the pavement, he saw the person turn a corner into an alley way and disappear. Redoubling his speed, he sprinted up the sidewalk trying not to knock over too many people and wishing he had his wings with him. Skidding to a halt at the mouth of the alley, he saw a leg dashing around a corner farther down the alley behind some dumpsters. Jogging carefully out of the bright sunlight into the cool shadowy alley, he noticed angrily he was only armed with a pistol tucked into the small of his back under his jacket. _Ghosts don't need bullets, Sam_ , he thought sarcastically, _they need the Ghostbusters. Don't cross the streams_.

Approaching the last place he saw the stranger, a cargo door greeted him to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. The metal door was scrolled up part way by chains, just high enough for someone to roll through on the ground. Looking around cautiously, he felt secure no one else was here. Wilson rotated across the threshold inside the dark warehouse.

It was silent except for the sound of vermin scratching in the dark and dripping water. Looking around as the murky sunlight infiltrated scummy window panes, Wilson could tell this space had not been used in a long time. Listening closer, he heard labored breathing. It wasn't close but whomever it was, they were **not** comfortable.

Forgetting about the stranger, a chill went up his spine. Bucky was here, he could sense it. Time to call Steve. He was about to get some news.

* * *

He couldn't move his arm.

Stringy hair hung down in his face as he sat awkwardly next to the commercial machine press that clenched his left arm so he couldn't escape. The room was filled with dirty apparatus parts and crates of rusting steel. The odor of his body mixed with the scent of oil and diesel rankled his nose but he didn't care because he was afraid. Terrified.

It hurt. He hurt. His heart… hurt.

Something was missing. Something was terribly wrong.

Where was he? How did he get here? The foggy memory surfaced of a man, with a black mask and a skull. The skull man called him the 'asset' which brought a wave of panic through his body as his left arm was clamped into the vise. A floating image of Tony Stark's face dissipated in his confusion. Did Hydra get him again? James' stomach turned with the idea and he suppressed a dry heave of terror. A mouthful of cotton kept him from speaking, as if he had any thing to say or anyone to say it to. The memory of Steve was on the edges of his consciousness. Bucky seized upon the fuzzy recollection of the man in the red, white and blue he saw at the Smithsonian. He desperately clung to the memory of himself.

Boots echoed down the hallway, but they didn't sound like soldiers' feet, or even Hydra. Hydra moved more like a titan full of pride and domination. These boots walked with confidence or conviction and a hint of excitement.

The footsteps stopped near him. Feeling someone watching him he raised his eyes, hesitantly.

He saw Steve. Unbidden, blue eyes plaintive, he mouthed soundlessly from cracked lips, "Help. Me."

Mutually tortured expressions meshed in time as the gears of feelings long buried began to synchronize again like matching cogs. Two hearts began to beat again as one in brotherhood. Bucky appeared petrified and confused in the depths of his gaze, stubble covering his chin, hollowing his cheeks. But he was _here_. Finally, Cap could help him _remember._ Steve finally came.

The sight of him almost made Roger's knees buckle. His best friend, dirty, disheveled, abused, thrown away like some piece of trash was a crumpled heap. A wailing apology climbed up his chest into his throat, wanting to beg forgiveness from James for letting him fall from the train so long ago. Clamping down on his voice, he remained silent. A battle axe of guilt cleaved his soul in two. Guts twisted as if a serrated knife had been thrust into his abdomen and turned cruelly. He could almost feel the sticky blood pouring from him as his heart pounded like a rolling tide in his chest. It destroyed Rogers to see Bucky like this again; a prisoner, an animal caged to be used like a tool.

Their gaze lingered longer. Cap could see the fear and flashes of the man Bucky used to be, the boy he knew the man he loved like a brother. Tears pooled in Cap's eyes, but he breathed in deeply to clear them.

Finally, the aching hurt too much. Rogers looked away.

"You ok?" Sam asked watching an ocean of emotions swirling on Steve's face and his valiant efforts to keep them contained.

Steve glanced at Sam and then back at Bucky, his voice all business, "Can we call Tony?"

"I'm not sure that's smart with the Accords." Sam replied sternly. Wilson thought after the way he and Stark had argued, it was crazy Steve was even remotely considering calling Tony. Those cracks _had_ become canyons.

Rogers gaze cut back to Sam, laser-like, "So we're alone?"

"Maybe not. I know a guy." Wilson responded with a shred of hope. Rogers face was still as a mountain, eyes pained.

Suddenly, the sound of a bullet dropping into a chamber clicked in the stillness.

"Get down!" Sam shoved Cap roughly to the floor as the bullet whizzed past his ear, clearly intended for Roger's skull, into the wall behind.

"Sam! Cover me! I'm getting Bucky out!" Rogers commanded and Wilson already had his pistol in hand diving behind a cluster of discarded oil drums. _Only fifteen shots, soldier_ , he told himself and aimed into the murky shadows where the attack had come from.

Another bullet whizzed by, ricocheting off the top of the metal press holding Bucky. Barnes didn't even flinch as if he didn't care he was in mortal danger. Wilson leaned up on one knee and returned fire, trying to figure out how many assailants there were.

"Great time to not bring your shield, Cap." Wilson quipped keeping his eyes on the concrete pillar about forty feet in front and to his left.

"Yeah, well you didn't sound like you wanted me to take my time." Steve retorted as he tried to figure out the machine, shielding Bucky with his own body. Barnes sat motionless even as his heart was hammering in his chest.

A bullet pierced the steel barrel and grazed Falcon's abdomen. He hissed in pain and squeezed off three rounds. _Not smart, Wilson_ , he criticized as he looked own at the oozing blood from his shirt.

Cap saw the machine was not plugged in. He spied the large industrial extension cord hanging down from the ceiling just a few feet beyond. "Sam, this machine isn't plugged in. I gotta run for it."

"Ok, on three!" Falcon prepared.

"Three!" Cap shouted with the heavy cable in his hand, moving behind the press and then he reached up on his tip toes to get the extension cord. Bullets followed his path, but each missing only narrowly. Sam returned fire as best he could shooting blind.

It still seemed that there was only one attacker, so Wilson directed his waning fire power at the source of the bullets. He was rewarded by hearing a metallic hit and a cuss.

Returning to Wilson and Barnes, Rogers saw the lid of a drum and picked it up. It wasn't vibranium but it was better than nothing. He charged forward, shots easily poking holes like Swiss cheese around him until he was back at Barnes' side.

The machine whirred to life. "Cap. I only got two shots left." Wilson whispered to Rogers behind him.

Steve heard but was trying to push the buttons to release Bucky. Slowly the vise began to crush his arm making Barnes panic.

"Push the red one." a voice, full of scorn, was heard over the shouting of James. It came from the source of the shooting and was male. Wilson thought he knew that voice… why was it so familiar?

Rogers madly started to punch buttons to make it stop as Bucky shouted. Finally, he hit the red one and the vise stopped, then slowly released his arm.

"I am really amazed at how easy this all turned out to be. Like shooting fish in a barrel, which is so insufficient. I was expecting a much more _satisfying_ adventure." the voice said again, now that Bucky was quiet, still stunned by his capture and subsequent release.

"Who the hell are you?! Show yourself!" Rogers bellowed like a bull.

Sam sat there and it dawned on him who this was just as the man stepped out of the shadows: Brock Rumlow. His helmet was pushed up over his forehead, exposing his burned face with a cruel sneer on his lips. Barnes mumbled something uncomplimentary in his direction, flexing his left hand. The arm was flattened in a few spots, but seemed functional.

"Well look here, the monologueing bastard who couldn't outrun a helicarrier." Wilson growled, taking aim. "You lived! Take a bow."

Rumlow didn't take his eyes off Steve and replied, "And who do you think really fired that RPG at your partner? Not some ragtag terrorist. Hail Hydra."

Sam's mouth flattened into a grim line as he frowned deeply, gripping the pistol tighter that was aimed for Brock's head. _Two shots, Sam_ , he reminded himself, make _'em count._

"What do you want with Barnes?" Steve demanded, shoulders squared to defend his friend, his voice laced with poison.

"The _asset_? Well, I was going to return him to his former employment. He  belongs to us." Rumlow commented, a feral smile stretching his scars, "But I decided to use him as bait for some bigger fish. Look what I got? By the way, I owe you for a few good licks there, Cap." Brock rubbed his scarred chin recalling the elevator in the Triskelion.

"But this isn't 'personal' is it?" Rogers returned acidly, still gripping the holey lid.

"It's about to become personal." Crossbones flipped down his mask in a flash and pointed his gun straight at Steve's chest. A crack was heard from Brock's gun.

Sam couldn't fire fast enough, but a black blur shot out from the corner of his eye, with a streak of red hair, crashing boots first into Brock. He stumbled half way out of Wilson's line of fire as blue lightening arced across Crossbones's body. He let out a sharp yell then fell silent and motionless. Black Widow quickly scanned the area and saw that Brock had come alone, which was fine with her even if she felt like kicking some more ass for Bucky's sake.

Wilson, seeing Brock down and glad to see Natasha, heard a choked moan, behind him. Steve had taken a bullet in the left shoulder and James cradled his friend in his lap, applying pressure with his metallic hand, rocking them back and forth like a mother and child. Scarlet blood oozed sickly over the silver metal. Bucky had tears running down his face.

"Steve!" Wilson crouched close, assessing the wound.

Bucky looked at him through stringy hair, "Help him." Sam saw the humanity in Barnes's eyes and it hit him that James was still in there and Steve was right for trying to save him.

"Outta my way boys." Natasha shoved her way in while pulling out a small first aide kit. She quickly ripped open Cap's shirt, placing a thick pad of gauze on the wound and securing it with medical tape and pressure. "I think you'll make it, once we get you to a doctor." Rogers gave her an appreciative look from his paling face, then glanced at Bucky. James looked at her, fear in his eyes for Rogers "Ne volnuytes' vozlyublennyye, on budet v poryadke ." she said softly, pushing the straggly hair from Barnes' eyes. (* don't worry beloved, he'll be alright.)

James blinked understanding then nodded. Wilson became very curious, suddenly, about the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow.

"Bucky. You ok?" Steve looked up at his best friend, his expression pinched in pain, eyes not as bright.

"I'll be ok. We need to take care of you, just like… old times." Barnes replied haltingly like he wasn't used to the sound of his own voice.

"I'm… I'm so glad to see you again." Rogers said with a gasp as he tried to sit up. Bucky gave a tortured smile and helped push him up into a sitting position.

"Not to break up this happy reunion, but we gotta go." Natasha interjected looking firmly at the men.

"Why not bring Rumlow in for some fun?" Wilson snarled. The others looked a bit surprised at his ferocity.

"No time. Reinforcements will be here any minute and we are out of options and down a man." Romanoff summarized, her red hair swinging gently around her face.

"I'll make some options." Wilson continued, tensing, "We weren't finished last time."

"Get in line." Steve added, his eyes dark against his blanching face.

Natasha assessed the three men, putting her hands on her hips and frowned disapprovingly, "Really? We're doing this now? Get your asses up and out of here."

Falcon broke through his anger and glanced at Cap with a fraction of a smirk, "Language."

"Oh come on!" Steve said, his voice sounding weaker.

Bucky spoke up, looking distressed and slightly annoyed, "Steve needs help. Let's go."

"Where to?" Natasha queried as Sam and Barnes helped Rogers to his feet.

"Pym." Wilson said and the four of them limped out of the abandoned warehouse together.

On the wall, the owner of the bug stuck to the wall of Crossbones' hide out smiled. Exactly where they wanted them. With Hank Pym.

FINE


End file.
